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Plague's End
Plague's End Dreaded Terror ---- After several days of venturing the rock infested terrain of the Earth Country, it had come into sight at last. Plastered across an inky black canvas, of which itself was flustered with the stench of rotting corpses and decaying trees, was an old log cabin sitting on the edge of a steep cliff. Glancing between the monument and her map, Senjō found a sly trinket of hope harness her being. Perhaps this would be the end of the road. Maybe —just maybe, she would be reunited with her daughter once again. It had been over a month already since Senjō had last so much as seen her daughter. Previously on her quest — as per the directions left behind on the note — Senjō had come across an abandoned apartment in Amegakure, where she had been rewarded with Sumire's signature blade. Thereafter, upon her travels to the further north, more specifically that which is known as Shimogakure, Senjō had the opportunity to hear the voice of her own child, through the use of an old record player left behind in a hostel. Beads of sweat trickled down from Senjō's forehead as she tucked the map away into her pocket. With a resilient breath, she took a step forward in the direction of the cabin; what awaited her next, she did not know. However, it was the only option she truly had been given. Even Konoha's ANBU had proven futile in obtaining a trace of Sumire; to make matters worse, the letters had promised Sumire's death had Senjō the nerve to tell anyone else about the situation. Though it was kept a secret even from her beloved husband, Shikaniku, the man, with his keen intellect, had been able to come to his own assumptions. Even so, there was little he could do at this point. It had all been left up to Senjō. Turning the knob of the wooden door, Sumire's precious smile returned within her inner subconscious. Her daughter's graceful voice; the flicker of her blonde hair; the charming presence of which she embodied; it had all torn at Senjō during the course of her travels. The woman was at a point of utter exhaustion, both on the physical and mental planes. She wanted nothing more than for this sick game to come to an end. She was tired of being a pawn; of being defenseless; of being being unable to make any decisions of her own. She wanted to see her daughter, to hold her more than anything. What awaited her inside the cabin was rather peculiar. Lingering about with the scent of corpses was the aroma of butter and cheese. In one corner of the room was a popcorn machine, bearing a new note for Senjō to abide to. Aside from that, the room was composed of nothing more than a lone sofa, standing before a large screen. In the lone of the night, the only light source came from a series of candles along the wooden walls. The Uzumaki woman grasped the note tightly, daring not to glance at its components just yet. Surely enough, her uneasiness gained the better of her --with shaky palms and unsteady eyes-- Senjo slowly read the message written on the small note. The journey had been everything but pleasant, tiring would be that last word to come to mind; being pushed well passed those feelings. Senjō's eyes bore a pale blue, lacking their usual vibrance and livelihood, even her once tanned and strong skin complexion now looked dreary and weak, almost paper thin. She stood beside the sofa, her breathing was deadly silent, almost hushed, and all that could be heard, was the whistling wind sneaking its way in from the slightly cracked window. Looking at the note, assuming one of the skills Senjō acquired at the Konoha academy was the ability to read, she would find that it read: Dear Adventurer, I commend you for making it this far. Now, prepare yourself a bowl of popcorn and take a seat on the sofa. The picture will begin as soon as the lid has been lifted off of the popcorn machine. Be quick! You won't want to miss even a second of this movie. --Kami The woman glared at words written on the note, angered immensely by the playfulness which in the message seemed to be written in. "Popcorn?" She whispered venomously while making her way over to the popcorn machine. She gently lifted the lid, before tipping it over and watching it fall onto floor. Her eyes looked upon the large screen as a picture began to show. With a fastly beating heart, Senjō took her place in the sofa, awaiting whatever message was to delivered now. After a brief countdown, a message faded into projection up over across the screen, reading: "how much do you love your daughter?" Suddenly, the screen turned dark; what appeared next was horrifying, to say the least. Laying in a bed with her wrists and ankles tied to one another was Sumire. What surrounded that bed was a group of senile men, each of their bodies coated in wrinkles and grey hair. Approaching the bed with haste, they bore smirks akin to the devil across their faces; what occurred in the next passing seconds simply could not have been translated to mere words alone. All throughout, Sumire was forced to watch with her own eyes as she was robbed of her own innocence. She called out for help, taking the names of her parents, her lover; what she received in return was only more dismay. To her knowledge, she had done absolutely nothing to deserve this. By all means, it was true; most certainly, she had lived a life of perfection. One filled with joy, one filled with success; filled with no such conflict! This entire concept was completely new to her. She was ignorant to the struggles of a commoner due to having been brought up as a noble, where her own reflection in the mirror had blinded her to what the outside world was truly like. She had been living in a dream --a fairy-tale. What was the worst part of this all was that this act had been caught on camera. To put it into simpler terms, those comprising the shinobi world... they weren't exactly too fond of "used goods"; there would be no one willing to wed such a woman, no matter how charming she was, after having witnessed such an event. Sumire's reputation would have been crippled beyond belief. That is, if this video were shown to the public. The next scene was composed of Sumire sitting in a dark room, her hands tied behind her back. She was shivering uncontrollably; her nude body lay atop a pool of blood. A masculine voice spoke out to her, "Sumire darling, who did this to you?" Stuttering stupid, Sumire somehow managed a response. "M-my mother." "Whom do you hate?" "My... my mother." "And whom do you want to kill?" "Mother... my mother." It was clear that the poor girl had been brainwashed; clearly trained to embody a single belief through the ample aid of physical torture. In a moment, the voice made some bizarre noise, evident of a raspberry; the sound made by the tongue being intertwined by the lips. For whatever reason, this gruesomely startled Sumire, who on cue, began to limp toward one side, in an attempt to escape what would presumably occur next. As predicted, a shadow appeared beside her, armed with steel rod. What followed henceforth would have led Senjō to quite possibly tear out her own eyes. However, had her eyes been intact, Senjō may have read the words that appeared across the screen next: Don't worry, be happy! I am a nice person. But you already know that. How about I offer you a deal. Why not replace the shame of your daughter with that of your own? The screen went blank for a moment, before revealing a live shot of Senjō. Words were evident across the top. Go ahead and strip down for me. You do love your daughter, don't you? Then go on! I will keep my promise. Your dignity in return for your daughter's life and future. Let us see now what you cherish more! Unfortunately, the video on the screen had not left any further directions as to how Sumire could have been recovered. It was blackmail, straight out of the teachings of the great Danzō. To make matters worse, a countdown began on one portion of the screen, as if allowing Senjō with mere seconds to act. What would she do? Only time would tell. With her eyes fixated upon the large screen, Senjō couldn't help but all out her daughter's name once she saw her. Tied up, and beaten; a pitiful state she was in, Senjō's heart began to thump rapidly as her daughter was then surrounded by a group of elderly men. Her beating organ sank into her lower abdomen as the next scene was far too much for Senjō keep her eyes on. Her once dull blue eyes flashed a darkened red, fueled my hatred, but then overshadowed by her own boiling emotion. She collapsed, falling to her knees in front of the large screen. "Sumire!" She shouted in an almost inaudible tone. Tears poured from her eyes like waterfalls, drenching her clothing. She was indeed a mess, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to contain herself. In all her life never had she imagined that someone would want to do such horrid things to her precious baby girl. Sumire as depicted, was alone, naked and afraid. And through all of this, Senjō was too beginning to blame herself. Had she been more careful, maybe Sumire wouldn't have been put in such a humiliating position. Maybe Sumire had a reason to hate her mother after all. A mother failing to protect her baby, maybe she did actually deserve to be killed. The more vile the acts became, the more Senjō heart ached. Bringing about a pain to the woman's chest. She grasped it in agony, shouting loud and turning her eyes away from the screen. And suddenly, the noises stopped, causing the woman to bring her attention back to it once more --greeted by sinister message. One that offered a proposal, trading Sumire humiliation for Senjō's own. But out of involuntary acts, Senjō stood up.... And slowly began to undress herself. Ridding her body of all its clothing. It had came down to this, fully nude, she fell to the ground yet before pleading to the screen. "Let her go! Please! Do no more to her! I'd rather it be me than her! No more! Take me instead!" More words popped up on the screen: Very good. You're almost finished, I promise. There is but one more duty I would like for you to fulfill. The back door creaked open slowly, revealing a dark haired man who bore a striking resemblance to Senjō's husband. Only, it wasn't him, for instead, it was Shikadai Nara, his brother! The poor lad was under an obscene hypnosis, one that transformed him into nothing short of a nymphomaniac. Abiding to his predisposed orders, the man looked over the naked Senjō and slowly approached her, taking off his own clothing in the process. Please take care of your husband's brother for me. His mind is currently fixated on accomplishing but one thing, and that is your love. Give him your love or give him your hate. The choice is yours, so do as you please. He is in no condition to put up a meaningful fight. Another count down began on the screen. Would there ever be an end to this inhumane torture? Senjō had a choice to make in order to proceed into the next round --the final round, which promised a reunion with her daughter. She could either fulfill Shikadai's desires --however long that may take-- or take his life; either or, it was obvious that this experience would haunt her for the rest of her life. Senjō turned her head slowly, laying her eyes upon the man. Having not taken a second glance, she nearly leaped in joy as the man bore an uncanny resemblance to her beloved. From that, she had mistaken Shikadai for Shikaniku. Backing away from the man slowly, Senjō replayed the words in her mind. "The choice is yours", "Give him your love or give him your hate". Either decision would suffice as the text proclaimed, the real question was; could she do it? Could Senjō bring herself to betray her vows, and possibly commit adultery? Could she sacrifice Shikadai's life in trade for Sumire's? Groundbreaking decisions that would show her unconditional love for her daughter. With little time to rethink, Senjō took and sent with what she felt was the lesser of two evils. Since Sumire's disappearance, Senjō bothered to carry around her daughter's blade; a weapon craft by Sumire's lover. A faint memory that kept her going all this time. Picking the blade from the ground, Senjō prepared to end Shikadai's life. And in one strike, she did just that --impaling him directly through the chest. Falling to the floor with his his blood soaking both their bodies; they screamed, Shikadai from pain, Senjō from the near instant regret. She swiftly clasped her mouth closed, yet still silently weeping. Her now deceased brother in law, fell toward her with lifeless eyes. A dreary Senjō pushed him away, watching his limp nude body slide across the floor. And with the deed done, Senjō turned back toward the screen. Once again awaiting yet another task so she can be reunited with her daughter. With Senjō's accomplishment came another message: A job well done. Now return to your homeland. Though, keep yourself how you are. Your daughter awaits you. Carnage Of Twilight ---- Throughout the couple of days it took Senjō to reach Konoha, she suffered consistently from the earlier traumatizing experiences. Each and every time she closed her eyes, the corpse of Shikadai returned within her inner subconscious; when she saw her own reflection in the mirror or even so much as looked down at herself, she was instantly reminded of her daughter's condition. For Senjō, looking at herself had become a sin in itself; for once she despised her own beauty. As she arrived at the front gate of the village, Senjō covered her explicit areas using each of her arms. The thought of traversing through the streets of her own home village butt-naked was more than just embarrassing, though if it meant being able to see Sumire again, then it was of minor significance. The gate was opened by Senkusha Wakaba, Konohagakure's most prolific gatekeeper. Senjō paid what she assumed to be his peeping eyes no mind as she strolled on by him; however, in reality, his eyes had been squinted in anger, not in admiration. Treading lightly, Senjō instigated a path through the alleyways so as to avoid as much contact with the public as possible. However, much to her surprise, the village had been deserted. There was not a single soul in sight —even the shadows of the many buildings had been uplifted in orison, as if to condemn the naked red riding hood. It wasn't until Senjō ventured into the very heart of the village that she caught her first glimpse of a person. Or rather, it was more like an army. Clad in silky black attire, the vast majority of Konohagakure's population had huddled amongst one another in utter and complete silence. Upon a large stage was a coffin, thereupon it the crest of the Nara tribe; mourning all about were famed members of the clan, most notably Shikamaru and Temari, whose dear child had been vanquished. It was then that Senjō's heart began to beat a mile a minute. Unveiling herself from behind a building, she raced toward the stage in an attempt to explain the situation from her perspective. She had been setup; if not the entire village, surely her loved ones would have come to understand! Storming onto the steps of the stage, she looked to her fellow clan members. With tears fountaining from his eyes, Shikamaru welcomed his daughter-in-law. "You… how dare you show your face here after all you have done..!" In his hand was a crumpled flier, one bearing the nude corpse of Shikadai beneath that of Senjō. "Shikamaru-dono, it's not as it se—" her explanation cut short, Senjō was forced to retaliate in self defense, for what awaited the naked red hood was only more agony. Her sighting was ill-timed; the moment the crowd caught ahold of her opposing white flesh, she became a target of their sorrow. Immediately did the army break out into a war cry; kunai and shuriken flew every which way, some scathing Senjō as she turned to flee. "You rotten whore!" "Traitor!" "Get that woman!" Upon her landing on a nearby building, Senjō somehow lost her footing. Looking down, she felt a pool of sand beneath her feet; a glance backward confirmed the presence of the illustrious Fifth Kazekage at the funeral of his favorite grandchild, to which she could do nothing more than grit her teeth in horror of the whole fiasco. Making haste, she somehow evaded the combined assaults of the entire village as a whole en route to a nearby forest. She had escaped somehow, and more importantly, she had survived. Her eyes bulged out from her skull next, as hanging from a branch before her was, of all things… another note: Your daughter awaits you ahead. Forsaking the events that had taken placed beforehand, Senjō found herself with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Heaving forth, she landed some few feet away from a small shack, of which was covered by a thin curtain that opened abruptly. Falling to her knees, drenched in blood from the earlier attack, Senjō looked up with a waning breath to find her daughter —her dear Sumire— running toward her with open arms. The long awaited reunion, at last it had arrived. The embrace that each longed to desperately for, tears of utter happiness. Their arms clinched tightly around one another. Spoken words practically impossible to comprehend from the muttering mess. A mother and her child were finally together again. He had remembered seeing his brother's dead body, and in its wake, he remembered his inauguration as the clan's head. He remembered seeing the knife that was used to injure him, and he remembered the clothes that were found at the scene of the death. After all, he had bought them. More than all, he remembered seeing the footage as her brother approached a naked Senjō, and in that instant she silently dug her knife into his flesh. Yet, with all the evidence, he simply couldn't believe it. Though, his inquiry was never a why or what, but always a how long. He still continued to ponder. Moving from the shadows, he watched as his wife and daughter embraced one another; he had felt a tinge of happiness at the sight of his missing child, but it had been unfortunately overshadowed by his unyielding rage. He clenched his hands as he watched them, and by time the two had noticed his presence, his sword was already drawn. Unlike the villagers, he had not been littered in the black garments, but his normal attire: a green bandana, fingerless black gloves, his blue haori, a purple V-neck shirt, white silk pants, and blue boots. "Why did you kill him?" His tone was almost apathetic. It was a tinge of emotion that cracked his voice. A short silence proceeded, and when Senjō went to speak, he interrupted. "Why were you there?" This time his tone did not betray his emotions. It was almost obvious the pain that he had felt as he continued speaking. "Why did you both betray my trust?" His shadow materialized around his being; a metaphorical shield it stood as, responding to his call. All throughout the confrontation, Sumire's eyes had been kept wide open; bloodshot as they were, her dilated pupils shivered back and forth before her sanity shattered into a single point. A devilish grin appeared across her face next, and within the next instant, she was slashing at Senjō with a kunai that she had acquired from her back pocket. "Kill... kill mother, kill mother...!" Distraught by the sounds of a familiar voice, Senjō feared the worst upon having to actually come face to face with Shikaniku. It was actually as if Senjō's bad luck would face no end. She kept her face downward, avoiding actually making contact with him. The emotional turmoil she had faced once before began to boil over yet again. She was completely inaudible. Each time she attempted to speak, the message would escape her mouth in a stuttering mess. "Shikaniku.... I-I-I'm sor--." The only words shexwas able to utter before being struck down by her very own flesh. Falling helplessly to ground, ending with a bang right to her head. She then lie there, her body seemed limp, unresponsive and lifeless. Being an entire month since their last meeting, Katoku watched on in horror at the scene. If it wasn't for her chakra signature, he may not have recognized her. "Sumire." Hr whispered to himself, quickly pacing over to the young woman to restrain her from finishing her mother. He wrapped him arms around her back, keeping her arms from wildly swings. "Sumire! What are you doing?!" He attempted to reason, moreso understand why she would strike her mother down in such a way. Shikaniku lept into action, etching into the shadows, to meet his wife. She fell onto his lap carelessly; she had been fortunate Sumire wasn't as physically strong as her own body. Hatefully, he glanced up towards his daughter, restrained by her own boyfriend, and what he noticed were her eyes. They were...different. "What the...?" Like a maniac, Sumire thwarted every which way, likely prompting a tighter grasp from Katoku. She eyed her so-called lover with distinct aversion —it was his fault this had all happened... at least to her knowledge. Had it not been a trend of theirs to exchange love letters between one another so frequently, then she may have very well been at ease within the confiments of her own home, for she would have never fallen for the one that led to her eventual capture. Even still was she unable to completely rid herself of her love for Katoku; and while he attempted to pair himself along with each and every man that came by him —like some deranged male stripper— he had, for the most part —or rather, most of the time… or even simply in certain conditions— been loyal to her, and it was this very same loyalty that was aiding in her recovery at this very moment in time. Her eyes returned to their prior complexion abruptly, and she blinked several times, eyeing Katoku as if she had woken up after a long dream. "K-Katoku…?" Tilting her head, she looked over at her father, then down toward her naked mother. "Mother… f-father…" Tears trickled down from both sides of her face as a warm smile danced upon her lips. "I'm so glad… we're all together again…" Her voice was weak, more fragile than it ever had been. She felt at ease within Katoku's arms, at ease within the presence of her loved ones. There had always been some unique sensation that came with spending time with them, and then an overarching comfort that followed suit. For the first time in a long while, Sumire was happy, for there was a genuine smile crafted upon her delicate face. And then it happened. Like a balloon, Sumire erupted, leaving nothing to remember her by other than a pool of dark, red blood that fell over the surrounding trees, boulders and people; Senjō, who had forgotten to dress herself that morning found herself masked in a layer of red clothing created by the very same substance —she had never felt so close to her daughter ever before. As quickly as Sumire had returned, she had once more vanished, only this time, for good. Standing up above the shack Sumire had arrived from was a small cloaked specimen —standing perhaps no more than four feet tall— maintaining a single, pronounced hand-sign with one of its hands. Over its head lay a hood, over its face a skeletal, vanilla-white mask, from which two red pupils glared with astounding appeal. From head to toe it was concealed within a long, majestic robe that fell beyond its feet; had it not been fairly obvious, this was the monster responsible for the vast series of dark deeds that had befallen the Nara. A New Feeling Katoku's eyes fell upon the red mess, a tragedy one hadn't even fathomed of accepting. His entire world, blown to pieces, quite literally, before his very eyes. It was as if someone had stabbed him directly in the chest with a dull knife. He touched his face wide eyes, glaring that the blood which stained his fingers. "N-no." He said in disbelief. "This just isn't real, it can't be." The pain of loss was unbearable, showing itself in the form of undignified weeping, Katoku's body began to tremble uncontrollably. Sumire was indeed gone, and this time, for good. And despite the gallons of blood before him, Katoku would still be in denial. Desperately wanting it all to have been a dream, a nightmare all imagined in his mind and he would soon wake next to his lover, her warm presence wrapped tightly in his arms. Unfortunately it was not be as he had hoped, the nightmare was indeed real, and he was living every moment of it. "Sumire." He murmured, collapsing to his knees before the red sea. With his one love gone, Katoku was now truly alone. Siblings off, living their lives joyously with their own families. And around the time Katoku and Sumire planned to start their own family, by tragedy she was taken away. His hands covered his face, as he now began to shamelessly cry in front of her parents, and with no one to comfort him, his feelings of despair were all the more worse. The world moved silently around him as he motionlessly watched. Her life force splattered across the people, their clothes, and the dirty soil. Clenching his trembling hands, his head tilted towards the earth. His wife, covered in her daughter's blood, rested unaware of her death. He looked at her carelessly. Then, in a change of emotions, his glare focused upon the body of the sentient creature standing upon the shack. "You." His tone was drenched in disgust, anger, sorrow. "You're responsible for this, no?" He took its silence as an indication to continue. Picking his blade up from the earth, having dropped it during the initial surprise, he pointed it towards the masked figure, watching as its shadow sparkled under the noon sun. "I'm..." a tear trickled down his face, running towards the sparks radiating from his clenched canines. "I'm going to break that mask....and once I do...." Shikaniku pulled a second blade from his hilt. "You'll die." He glanced towards Katoku momentarily, and then back towards his enemy, refusing to take his eyes off of their being. "Listen boy," Shikaniku bit his lip, "Help me avenge our family." It had been unusual for Shikaniku to address Katoku as Sumire's fiancé. "Then, we'll properly mourn. One should never mourn with evil in their heart." He glare intensified. Swinging his blades, sending a surge of magical energies resonating throughout his two swords simultaneously, its motion manifested a barrage of blades that screeched as it soared through the atmosphere towards the midget. Gathering up his courage, Katoku's body steadily twitchrd from his conflicting emotions. A draft of calmness succumbed his being once Shikaniku referred to him as family. To avenge his fallen bride, Katoku was all for it. And after regaining control, he too took a stand. He felt as if the signature before him felt familiar somehow, faintly familiar. Becoming anxious to reveal the sxum behind the mask. "I'd never thought hear those words escape you lips." With an exhale, Katoku expressed his chakra onto the physical plane. With his chakra now focused, Katoku would bring his own attack toward the stranger. By using his prowess with magnetic fields, Katoku would manipulate the iron within Sumire's blood and remove it from both he and Senjō's body. Oddly enough, Katoku felt that there was a surprisingly excessive amount of metal within the blood. "That's...strange." He thought, changing the shape of the blood into a whip, and then used it to lash out toward the mask persona atop the roof.